At the next flash of lightning, there is a looming figure standing close, cadaverously thin and dressed in all-enveloping black hooded cloak, regarding her with faceless curiosity from beneath its cowl.
Along with the faceless figure comes the scent of death, of an embalmed corpse. The smells of embalming are not so familiar to her, but death is a scent she knows intimately. Her eyes widen.
"Zombie!" she growls in accusation. Dead things should move around, as if they are alive! She needs to kill it again, but to kill it she must strike it, and she cannot remove her hands from the ropes...
"You smell of death," Istas snarls. Her flingers cling tighter to the rope,
but she will not show this creature her fear. To show fear is to show
weakness. "Dead things that move are zombies. Zombies should not exist!"
Perhaps Tower was hoping that this revelation would provide a convincing
argument. Perhaps he simply thought it would be nicely dramatic. Whatever
he was hoping, it's probably not having the intended effect.
Istas draws herself up, in the manner of an animal trying to make itself
appear bigger and more threatening - even if the way she still clings to
the rope bridge makes it less effective than usual.
"Zombie limbs!" she snarls. Not even the disappearance of the smell of
death can convince her otherwise. Smells can be hidden and disguised. Her
other senses still tell her that they are there.
In response to the snarl, lightning flashes on either side, near enough to be blinding, and thunder peals out a pair of bone-rumbling snarls of its own.
She flinches at the peals of thunder, at strikes which sound like they strike far too close. She does not like this. She does not like the storm, or the bridge. She does not like the zombie limbs.
But she will hide her fear, as best she can. She stops growling. She would stare with dangerous intent at the zombie limbs, but it is difficult to know where to direct her gaze when the zombie limbs have no eyes.
She says nothing. She merely hopes that she may, somehow, gain the opportunity to strike.
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"Zombie!" she growls in accusation. Dead things should move around, as if they are alive! She needs to kill it again, but to kill it she must strike it, and she cannot remove her hands from the ropes...
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"You smell of death," Istas snarls. Her flingers cling tighter to the rope, but she will not show this creature her fear. To show fear is to show weakness. "Dead things that move are zombies. Zombies should not exist!"
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Istas frowns. "I smell it," she says, as if it were an accusation. Clearly, if a waheela smells it, it must exist.
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"Bodies are bodies. They have flesh. Ideas do not."
Advanced abstract thinking wasn't exactly Istas's forte.
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"I AM AN IDEA. The Flesh was merely a convenience."
The voice now echoes around her, wholly sourceless, and the splayed limbs, while still cadaverous, no longer have a scent.
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Perhaps Tower was hoping that this revelation would provide a convincing argument. Perhaps he simply thought it would be nicely dramatic. Whatever he was hoping, it's probably not having the intended effect.
Istas draws herself up, in the manner of an animal trying to make itself appear bigger and more threatening - even if the way she still clings to the rope bridge makes it less effective than usual.
"Zombie limbs!" she snarls. Not even the disappearance of the smell of death can convince her otherwise. Smells can be hidden and disguised. Her other senses still tell her that they are there.
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But she will hide her fear, as best she can. She stops growling. She would stare with dangerous intent at the zombie limbs, but it is difficult to know where to direct her gaze when the zombie limbs have no eyes.
She says nothing. She merely hopes that she may, somehow, gain the opportunity to strike.
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The lightning goes out, and then the rain, and then Istas is back in a more familiar sort of Liminal Space.
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But liminal space is much preferable to the bridge, and she's more than glad to no longer be in the presences of the unsettling zombie limbs...